Tales From the Wizarding Underworld
by Rea
Summary: Meet Sean, wizard, smuggler, and part of the Wizarding Underworld. This is most of his life. Now complete!
1. Prologue

html

html

body

p Disclaimer: I don't own the concept of Wizarding, which was created by JK Rowling, though it would be fun if I did. I do own Sean, his family and other characters I made up. Not that it matters, I'm not making any money off of it. I also do not own any of the concepts I borrowed from The Hitchhiker's Guide.This story is on going; I write when I feel like it. I have a bit done now and will post those chapters regularly.

pTales from the Wizarding Underworld

pIntroduction: The man behind the yugo

pSean Maggiore hadn't planned on becoming part of the Wizarding underworld, but then again, few people do. Sean, born to muggle parents on a small Kansas farm, found out he was a wizard at the typical age of 11, only to be held back in fifth grade and therefore unable to attend Alberquerque Wizardry Academy until he was twelve. 

pAfter finishing his schooling, Sean did many things, including dropping the 'Maggiore' part of his name as soon as humanly possible. He roamed the world in pursuit of happiness, the meaning of life and truth in its purest form. Or, as Sean so eloquently put it, "fun." 

pThis pursuit led him to accomplish many things in life. Highly popular on the hippie scene, Sean is remembered by those who can as the one who really made Woodstock memorable. He then played Quodpot for a remarkable season before announcing that the game was "crap" and disappearing into the dredges of the Earth, only to reappear in a place known to most people as Tangier. To others, it is the Wizarding Underworld, home to the outlaws, refugees and scum of Wizarding society. 

pThere, Sean became a noted Flying Carpet smuggler, primarily working for Ali Bashir. Along with his Vampire sidekick, Satchel, he became one of the most well respected smugglers in the Wizarding Underworld as well as the most shown on the Magical Community's Most Wanted. He has appeared a total of 55 times under various aliases such as Bob, John Doe, Sam, and the Harbinger of Doom, just to name a few. 

pThough Sean's exploits are far too many (and too denied by the ruffian himself) we have attempted to compile several of them, hoping to capture a portion of the life of this independent and noble man on paper. There are many ways we might describe Sean's character and lifestyle, but it is perhaps said best by Sean himself: "I'm just a frood who really knows where his towel is." And Sean definitely knows that: his linen closet.

p The Editors.

/body

/html


	2. Letters From Someone

html

html

body

pChapter 1: Letters From Someone.

pYear: 1961. Sean is 11.

pSean stared at the bull. It snorted at him and pawed the tall dewy grass. It was early morning and so far Sean had spent the past two hours trying to persuade the bull to go back into its stall or at least the cattle run.

pSo far, Sean's shirt had been ripped, his right arm bruised and his face was streaked with mud. One thing was for sure; his mom would not be pleased when Sean finally came back inside.

pNot that they were too pleased with him at the moment anyway. Apparently, Sean had failed to shut the gate to the cow run properly and half of their cows had gotten out during the night. The other 10 cows had been relatively easy to recapture but so far this bull was not giving up. 

pSean feinted to the left and then quickly ran through the pasture towards the farmyard. The bull, unfortunately, was not fooled and followed Sean instead of going into the run. 

p"AHHHHHH!!!" The two took of running across the farm. Sean turned quickly around the barn and headed straight towards the cattle yard for a second time.

p"Please let this work," he prayed. "Please let this work."

He ran even faster than with the bull running even faster and stirring up a storm of dust as he followed behind. At the last moment, Sean changed directions so that the bull, instead of Sean, went into the cattle run.

pSean slammed the gate shut triumphantly feeling as though not even the great matadors in Spain could hold a candle to his work. He would have stayed to gloat but he was already late for breakfast and food always has priority in the mind of an eleven year old boy.

pSure enough, the remains of breakfast covered the table when Sean arrived. His mother took one glance at his shirt and let out a deep sigh.

p"I suppose you expect I'll be the one to sew up that shirt you've ripped?"

pSean shrugged trying not to look too concerned. "Yeah or you could just buy me a new one."

pHe reached for the toast and began to slather it with butter.

p"Buy you a new shirt! What do you think that money grows on trees? And honestly, would you like some bread with your butter?" She removed the butter from the table out of Sean's reach. 

p"Heck, if money did grow on trees, do you think I'd always be asking you and dad for some all the time?"

pMrs. Maggiore whacked Sean on the back of his head without hesitation.

p"Owwe!"

p"Don't be smart," she scolded and turned back to the counter and continued putting dishes away.

pSean ate his breakfast silently, piling all of his eggs and bacon on top of his toast thus making what he termed a "breakfast sandwich." Once he tried to put it all in his orange juice to make a breakfast drink but his parents both drew the line there. 

pSo, Sean's teeth were forced to suffer much undue wear and tear.

pJust as he was cramming the last bite of food into his mouth, Mrs. Maggiore gasped.

p"What on Earth!"

pSean looked up and saw a large brown barn owl carrying a letter fly across the room. He seemed to be trying to decide where to drop the letter.

p"Sean, did you leave the door open again?"

p"No! At least I think not."

p"Shoo! Out, get out!" Sean's mother swung the spatula at the owl, which only made it mad.

p"Mom, don't! It's just trying-" Sean paused realizing what he was about to say. "-Trying to deliver a letter!"

p"Don't be ridiculous! How could an owl be delivering a letter?"

p"I dunno- but it's got one tied to its leg." Sean reached up and pulled the letter off. Its job done, the owl spread its wings and flew out of the kitchen, relieved to be away from the lady with the spatula.

pAs Sean looked at the letter, a puzzled expression formed on his face.

p"Well, if it is a letter, who is it to?" His mother asked.

pSean hesitated a moment before answering. "It's for me."

p"What?"

p"It has my name on it and address." He handed it to his mother so she could plainly read:

pSean Maggiore

p3100 Lancaster Road

pBeloit, Ks 67256

pOn the back of the envelope was a seal depicting an Eagle carrying a wand that was emitting 5 stars with the initials ACW.

pSean's mother handed the letter back to Sean. "Here, it's yours so open it."

pSean broke open the seal and pulled out a crisp piece of parchment and read:

pDear Sean Maggiore,

pIt has come to our attention that you have reached the age of eleven and it is now time for you to apply to one of the five schools of Magic available in the United States of America. Enclosed are brochures and viewbooks from each of the schools as well as an application. Please send your response via owl. If you have no owl, please send via United States Postal Service to the following address:

pJohn Smith

p1 Mainstreet

pAnytown, USA

pWe wish you success at whatever school you choose.

pSincerely and best wishes,

pRobert McClain

pDirector of Education

pAmerican Council of Wizards

p"Cool!"

p"Hmmmm?"

pSean looked up to see his mother standing there, arms crossed, clearly expecting him to hand her the letter.

p"Oh, fine." He tossed the letter to his mother, then cleared off his breakfast things as she read it.

pShe carefully folded the letter up after reading it and set it down on the table. "Well, Sean, umm..."

pSean was surprised. For the first time in his memory, his mother was speechless.

p"Yes, mother dear?" He asked innocently.

p"I'm going to get your father." She crossed the kitchen floor in two long strides and tried to open the already open door, then let it slam shut behind her.

pSean waited. And waited. And waited. Really he was being rather patient for himself and just when he thought he couldn't take it any longer, he heard his parents' voices moving towards the house.

pHis dad wiped his heavy boots on the welcome mat before entering the house which made the whole situation appear much more grim in Sean's mind. His subconscious immediately went into the "I-didn't-do-it mode".

pSean's mother entered the kitchen behind his father and for a moment all three of them stood there silently.

pThen-

p"Sean, your mother tells me you've received a letter from a- what was it again, honey?"

p"A director of education of the American Council of Wizards," replied Sean's mother as she handed him the letter.

pAfter reading through it for a few minutes Sean's father looked even more confused. Sean waited for him to speak but suddenly realized that good ol' dad didn't know what to say.

p"Well, can I go- to wizarding school?" Sean asked finally.

pHis parents jumped at the sound of his voice. "Uh- Sean," Began his father. "You don't really believe this is real do you? I mean- all this American Council of Wizards thing and education in magic?"

p"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" Sean asked. His parents gave him the two funny looks they usually reserved just for him. "I mean, it explains a lot, doesn't it, me being a wizard?" He persisted. "All that strange stuff that happened and everybody always blamed on me."

pHis mother smiled sweetly. "Like the Noodle Incident?"

p"Now that was not my fault," Sean said, annoyed.

p"Of course not."

p"Well?" Sean pressed. They had to let him go. They had to.

p"Alright," his father relented. "You can go to a wizarding school."

pSean's face broke into a grin. "Alright! Wait until my friends hear about this." Sean started to run out the door.

p"Whoa! Hold it buddy. I didn't say when did I? You've still got to retake the fifth grade since you didn't manage to pass all your subjects this year."

pSean's jaw dropped opened in shock. "What? No! You can't do this to me! This is the best thing that's happened to me since…well, for a long time."

pHis mother put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Yes, I'm afraid we can and we will. You need to have your primary education before you wizard one." She kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Now go help your father in the fields while I write a letter to this- this Mr. Robert McClain."

p"Yuck, Mom…ewww," he wiped his forehead off disgustedly with the back of his hand and followed his father glumly out the door.

pMrs. Maggiore leaned against the kitchen counter heavily and massaged her temples with her fingers. "Honestly, what am I going to do with that child? A wizard. He'll be more trouble than he's worth." She sighed and went into the front room to write the letter.

/body

/html


	3. Hippie Days

html

body

pChapter 2: Those Hippie Days

pYear: 1969 Sean is 19 

pSean leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and groaned, massaging his temples with his thumbs. This was bad, yes, but he never imagined it would be this bad. The damn tour guide was rambling on and on and on about the Ministry of Magic building, the various Ministers of Magic, blah, blah, blah. 

pOk, he admitted to himself. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have a hangover. Sean grinned in spite of himself. They had done some major partying last night, or at least they had done the closet thing to partying you could do in Diagon Alley. Still, those lights were bright. And did that stupid witch have to talk so loudly?

pSean's friend Paco nudged him slightly. _Wanna get a smoke?_ Paco pantomimed to Sean. Sean shook his head. What he wanted to do was get these blasted toxins out of his body and smoking a 'muggle' certainly wouldn't help with that. Paco and Sean's other friend, Martin, disappeared into a small side room, leaving Sean to contemplate various ways of poisoning their teacher so they could party again tonight.

pJust as Sean was working out the finer aspects of his plan, Paco and Martin returned, looking very high and excited.

p"Sean, you gotta see this man," Martin whispered hoarsely. "We just found the most groovy thing."

Sean glared at them. They were high, how could they know something groovy from something totally old. Not only that, but they had forgotten to perform the Normalus spell, which gets rid of any trace of drug use. If Mr. Anderson saw this, heads would roll.

p"What are you talking about? There's nothing groovy here, save for 50 old wizards and witches sleeping in their pictures." He pointed to the various portraits of former Ministers of Magic, which lined the wall.

p"You gotta believe us this time. Come on, man!" Paco pulled at Sean's sleeve and Sean finally relented and followed the two potheads into the smaller room.

pAs soon as he entered, all evil thoughts and intentions vanished, including those regarding poisoning Mr. Anderson's dessert. This left Sean feeling slightly disoriented; he had never really been without evil thoughts his entire life. "Wha- Wha-" he stammered weakly. "What is going on?" 

p"It the torch, yo," Paco answered grinning like a maniac. 

p"Huh?"

p"It's causing all evil intentions to go away." Martin explained.

p"Yeah, here, just smoke some pot. It counteracts the effect." Paco threw Sean a joint.

pEyes still on the torch, Sean inhaled deeply. Suddenly, all the evil thoughts and intentions that had been his companion most of his life came rushing back. Sean sighed. There, normal again.

p"What's the name of this thing?" Sean asked examining the Torch carefully.

p"Sign says it's the Green Torch. The ministry here once had it over the entrance so everyone's evil intentions would go away." Martin grinned. "Guess it didn't work too well cause we're still here."

pPaco giggled like a girl and threw the butt of his joint at Martin, who seized it and finished it off.

pAfter awhile, the fun of staring at the torch with glazed, bloodshot eyes wore off. Sean stared at the Torch feeling rather annoyed with it for some reason. Sure, it was pretty. And shiny, the other part of his brain added. Yes, shiny, agreed another part of his brain. That yellow-orange flame was certainly pretty. Maybe he could eat it! Suggested the first half of his brain. Ok! Agreed the other part. 

pSean shook his head fiercely. He really hated when that happened. But for the record, Paco and Martin weren't much better off; they were lying on the floor mesmerized by the dancing shadows on the ceiling.

pSean threw his butt onto the ground disgustedly.

p"Hell, let's just _steal_ the damn thing."

pOne hour later and much confusion due to their lack of sobriety, the Torch had been lassoed, pulled down from it's place high on the wall and was now lodged securely inside Sean's rucksack. Sigh; thought Sean, this really was the life.

pThey headed back out to where the rest of their class was still being lulled to sleep by the tour guide.

*****

pThe weeks passed quickly after that, filled with visits to Piccadilly Circus and London Bridge and soon it was time to return to the U.S. Sean pushed down on his suitcase and willed it to close. Finally, the stubborn zipper shut. There, he was all packed and ready. Not that it hadn't been fun here or anything but he was looking forward to getting home and back on the American scene. Rumor had it that there was going to be a major music festival on some muggle's farm in New York. It was guaranteed to be the grooviest happening all year long. Sean grinned. He would certainly be heading up there and taking a certain Torch with him just to see the effect.

pThe door opened and Paco and Martin stumbled in gripping a bag. Sean eyed it suspiciously.

p"What's in that bag?"

p"Man, you aren't gonna believe this. We just got a kickin' deal on some greens." Paco dumped the bag out on the bed. "Look at all that!"

pSean groaned. Sometimes his friends didn't strike him as too wealthy in the intelligence department. Either that or it was due to the fact he was a year older than them.

p"Paco, you moron. You know we can't smoke that much pot in a day. We leave tomorrow or did you forget that too?"

p"Aw, come on, yo. We can take it with us. You know we'll never find a deal like this in the States."

p"Take it with us?" Sean sputtered exasperated. "We can't 'take it with us'. We gotta go through customs man. I don't know about you guys but I sure don't feel like getting arrested."

pPaco and Martin looked dumbstruck.

p"Oh, yeah," murmured Martin. "I guess we didn't think about that. So, what're we gonna do with it all?"

pSean looked at the pot, then at his over-packed suitcase. Paco had a point; Sean really didn't like the idea of leaving so much hashish behind. He would no sooner leave his right hand than that stuff. His friends, maybe but not his pot or right hand. That's when his eye landed on the Torch, which was lying next to his backpack waiting to be packed as a carry-on item.

p"Hold up, guys," Sean said, eyes still on the Torch. "I have an idea."

pThey unscrewed the bottom part of the Torch with the aid of their wands and took out all the insides. Apparently, the Torch was fueled by some sort of magical substance. Dragons' blood by the looks of it. 

pSean dumped it out and refilled the torch with pot. He poked and prodded the Torch until it had expanded magically enough on the inside to hold all of the pot while maintaining a normal outward appearance. He smiled inwardly. Yes, this just might work with a bit of luck and maybe a minor distraction to keep Mr. Anderson from noticing they had stolen the Torch. The muggles were no problem. They never noticed anything magical anyway and if they did, they usually assumed it was something else. Hopefully, that would be the case this time and the pot would go completely unnoticed as well. 

pThe next day, the Sean and his classmates headed to the airport and part one of Operation Potsneak went quite well. No one noticed a thing, especially Mr. Anderson. He was too busy wrenching Filibuster Fireworks out of Martin's bag to even glance at Sean's and they boarded the airplane without further ado. 

pAmazingly enough, nothing happened when they went through customs either. Sean was starting to feel a little out of sorts. He really wasn't used to his half-baked plans going so well. He shrugged and headed out of the airport. Suddenly, he noticed a lightness in his backpack that had not been there before. He stopped dead in his tracks and reached into his bag. No torch. It was gone. That's impossible, he thought, his mind racing. Torches don't just disappear, especially not this one. Someone couldn't have stolen it, they would have forgotten as soon as they got near the torch since it was an evil intention.

pThen he spotted Paco and Martin disappearing into the airport restroom, clutching what appeared to be a torch in their hands. Sean sighed. Stupid morons. They couldn't even wait to get out of the airport before getting high. He turned around and headed back into the airport towards the restrooms his friends had entered.

pWhen he opened the door, all worries problems and general bad feelings that had been weighing him down were suddenly washed away. Sean was left to float joyfully in a haze of what felt like pot induced bliss. But that couldn't be right, the rational part of his brain shouted through the fog. Sean couldn't have smoked a joint. There hadn't been time yet. 

pThen he spied Paco and Martin lying on the floor without a disturbing thought in their heads. The torch was sitting in a urinal, it's green flame lighting the bathroom with an eerie glow.

pWait a second! Cried the rational part of Sean's brain. That flame shouldn't be green! The blissful part of his brain didn't seem to care, though, and furthermore, was determined to enjoy this experience for all it was worth. It wasn't often you could enjoy the effects of being high without the red-eyes and greasy hair, it reminded him.

pAfter a brief internal struggle, Sean waved his wand and shouted 'Normalus!' The effect of the Torch was counteracted and all negative thoughts and emotions flooded back, stronger than before. Paco and Martin groaned piteously, not happy at all with their bliss being magicked away. 

pSean kicked Paco in the leg. "What the hell did you guys do to the Torch?"

p"Ow, man, why'd you kick me? You didn't have to kick me you know," Paco moaned from the floor.

p"Answer my question or you'll find me kicking a less desirable part of your anatomy."

p"Didn't do nothin'," Martin began." Just lit the Torch."

p"You lit the Torch?"

p"Yeah, couldn't get the pot out so we figured we could smoke it out or something."

pSean looked at the Torch. Somehow, he doubted it would ever be the same again. He blew it out, unscrewed the bottom and dumped the remainder of the pot out of it. He fastened the bottom back on, and then relit the Torch with the aid of his wand.

pThe green flame returned and so did, unfortunately, the pot-like effect. Sean quickly performed the normalus spell, much to the annoyance of his friends and sighed. 

p"I think you guys ruined it. I mean, not that the effect is bad or anything but I don't think it will get rid of evil anymore. It just seems to…well, get anyone in the vicinity of it high."

p"Man, then, that is so not ruined," Paco exclaimed. "It's only been improved! We can take it to Woodstock!"

pAnd that is how the Green (flame) Torch found itself at Woodstock that summer of 1969.

****

pMinerva McGonagall weaved her way through the dense clouds at Woodstock. She was finally here. After months of traveling with her hippie friends, she had reached her destination. It seemed as though the entire counterculture had descended upon muggle Max Yasgur's farm. How bizarre, she thought with a smile. 

p"Aw man, that was awesome. I dunno what it is man, but I think there is something in the air over by stage two where Jimi is playing." " I know, man. That is just radical."

pMinerva spun around to face the speakers and found herself face to face with two other hippies.

p"What are you talking about?" She asked casually.

p"Whoa, are you British? Groovy! We didn't know there were Brits here! Man, this is like a whole multicultural party, man."

pMinerva smiled at him and asked her question again.

p"That area over there, where like _everyone_ is. There's no way you can miss it. Something in the air, you know what I mean."

pMinerva nodded and headed off into the crowed towards stage number 2. When she got there, it was more than obvious that _something_ odd was going on. Everyone was just dancing and skipping and, in general being happy. Minerva supposed in could have been drugs, but then she noticed that she was starting to feel the same way. "Something is decidedly odd about this," she mumbled to herself.

pThe deeper into the crowed she moved, the more the odd behavior increased. Then she noticed a torch, elevated high above the crowed with a young wizard suspending it in the air with his wand. Minerva acted without thinking and whipped out her wand. "Normalus!" she cried; neutralizing the effects of the Torch. Everyone in the crowed groaned piteously and then headed off to get more drugs or find something else to be completely joyous about. 

pMinerva approached the wizard, who was looking around for an explanation. "That is _our_ Torch," she shouted angrily at him. 

p"Not any longer," responded the wizard. "We got it now."

p"It belongs in the Ministry of Magic!" she shouted at him. 

pTwo more wizards approached and stood next to the first wizard.

p"What is your name, sir?" Minerva asked with forced politeness.

p"Sean," responded the wizard evenly. "And yours?"

p"Minerva McGonagall," she replied evenly. "And that is the Green Torch and it will be returning to Great Britain with me." She pointed her wand at it and cried, "_Accio_ Green Torch!"

pNothing happened. Sean's grip on it was simply too strong. Sean laughed at her.

p"You'll see that it really is not that easy to grab it, huh?"

pMinerva glared at it and shouted even louder, "_Accio_ Green Torch.!"

pThe Torch flew out of the grip of Sean's wand and landed firmly in Minerva's opened hand. She examined it closely. There were peace signs carved in the Torch's body along with other things that will not be mentioned. The flame, she noticed, was no longer a brilliant yellow-orange either but a psychedelic green that was reminiscent of marijuana.

p"You've…you've ruined it," she stammered, shaking with anger.

p"Not ruined it, yo," said one of Sean's cronies. "Just improved upon a good idea."

p"What have you done with it?"

p"Well, let's just say we've discovered the amazing effects of using pot to fuel the Torch instead of dragons' blood."

p"You what?!"

p"We changed it. Now, instead of driving away evil, it gets rid of all negative feelings and emotions. Very similar to the effects of pot itself." Sean grinned at her and winked. "Not a bad thing, if you ask me. Nothing like being able to experience the effects of marijuana without the side effects."

pMinerva glared at him.

p"You shouldn't have this here, in full view of the muggles. What if somebody notices? Now I'm going to have spend the next days modifying everyone's memories. I'd ask you for help but I think I already know the answer to that question."

pSean looked taken aback. "What, just because I want everyone to be have a little fun means I won't help fix the effects of that action. Look, I don't want to get in trouble with wizarding authorities anymore than you do.

pOne of his friends laughed. "Too late for that, yo." He pointed to the other side of the grounds, where 10 American wizards and witches were heading towards them.

pQuick as a flash, Sean disappeared along with his friends, leaving Minerva there, holding the evidence of his crimes. She spat on the ground angrily. She couldn't just stand here, they'd take the Torch from her. She weighed her options, then decided the only thing to do was to disparate herself.

pShe would return to Britain and show the Torch to Dumbledore. He would know what to do with it. She disaparated and left the American wizards to wonder what had happened.

pFortunately, for them, there was more than four wizards and witches at Woodstock who knew the truth of what happened with the Torch and were kind enough to relinquish this information to the proper authorities.

pThe records reveal that over a thousand memories had to be modified, which explains why nobody seems to remember what happened at Woodstock, save for the fact that it rained. A lot. 

/body

/html


	4. Quodpot: It's worse than football

html

body

Disclaimer: Yes, I don't own Quodpot. I don't make any money off of this either. That kind of makes me sad. : (

Quodpot: It's Worse Than Football

p1971-Sean is 21

            pSean sat there on the bench glaring out at the playing field. His friend Jackson entered from the field, poured himself some water and said, "man, that's some game, huh?"

            pSean let his glare slide onto Jackson's profile. "Hmpf. I'm sure it is," he responded darkly.

            Jackson looked at him, surprised. Then- "oh, I'm sorry man, I forgot you weren't playing again. Dang, how any games is Coach going to make you sit out?"

            p"Heck if I know, but I'm damned tired of it. Why did he put me on the team if I'm not going to play?"

            "Warm the benches?"

            p"Shut up." Sean turned back towards the playing field just in time to watch Sam Alstone score.

            "Maybe you should talk to him," Jackson suggested.

            "Why? Do you think me going up to Coach us really going to change his mind and let me play?"

            pJackson shrugged. "Can't say, but at least you'll know why." 

            pSean thought about this. As much as he didn't want to, he had to admit it made sense. Knowing why would be better than floundering around in the dark as usual. "Okay, fine I'll talk to him."

            p"When?"

            p"Ummm…how about after the game?"

            Jackson looked at him dubiously. "You're going to chicken out." 

            "Why do you say that?"

            p"Because you usually do—you get all worked up about something then you don't do anything about it."

            pSean puffed his chest out in annoyance. "I said I'll talk to him," Sean growled and with that, he turned back to watching the Quodpot game.

pHe waited until the locker room had emptied before approaching Coach's office. Sean had been have tempted not to go at all but a knowing look from Jackson changed his mind. Coach was sitting behind his desk staring at a play sheet. Sean cleared his throat to get his attention.

            "Er, Coach?"

            pHe looked up, startled. "Oh, Sean, didn't see you there. Have a seat, son."

Coach was one of those old school athletics directors who treated his players like they were all long lost sons. Estranged sons, that is. Ones who left 20 years ago then finally came back wringing their hands and asking for $1000 loans. Sean felt like a little kid every time he entered his office. 

            p"Thanks," Sean said quickly as he sat down. 

            p"So, I imagine you wanted to speak with me about something?" Coach folded his hands together and placed them on his desk.

            p"Uh, yeah. I was just wondering why I've been benched so far this season," he paused to work up more courage. "Coach, we've played three out of 8 games so far this season. One more and that will be half the games I've been benched."

            pCoach nodded. "That's true."

            p"Well, why then?"

            p"Coach stared him in the eye. "Sean, do you have any idea why you've been benched so far this season?

            p"No," Sean replied. "If I did, I would I be here asking you right now?"

            pCoach smiled. "No, probably not. Well, I'm not going to say you're a bad player, son, cause you're not. Let's just say your skills leave a lot to be desired."

            pA lump formed in Sean's throat. "What do you mean?" If my skills leave so much to be desired, why am I here?"

            p"Well, you've got the talent, that's for sure, else you wouldn't be here. You're ability to work well on a team is what I'm referring to."

            p"So…"Sean started.

            p"You need to learn that you're not the only person on that field."

            p"I _know_ that."

            p"Then why don't you act like it? Quodpot is not about winning personal glory. What does it matter how many goals you score if the team loses the game?"

            pSean shrugged. " At least I got something out of it?"

            p"No. That's the problem Sean. If the team loses, you lose. There is no in between. As long as you fail to realize that, then the longer you'll be on the bench."

            pSean nodded. "I see. So, either I give up my playing style or I give up my playing?"

            p"Yes, that's about right."

            p"Ok, then." Sean stood up and pushed his chair in and headed for the exit. "I'll clean out my locker then."

            pCoach stood up in surprise. "Wait, you're leaving?"

            "Yeah. I can't stay can I?"

            "But you're under contract." Disbelief filled Coach's voice.

            "I know," Sean said with a shrug.

            p"If you leave, the cops, lawyers and who knows what else will be after you. But you already know that right?"

            pSean nodded, trying desperately to think of a place he could stay and the police couldn't find him…or at least the lawsuits couldn't. Where was that place he'd heard of in school—that place where wizards who were wanted or unkosher could go?

            "Don't worry, sir. I have a place I can go where no one will ever find me unless I want them to."            

            pCoach looked at him, concerned. "You're sure?"

            "Yeah," Sean said reassuringly. He wasn't quite sure it was Coach he was trying to assure.

            p"Alright then. I was hoping to give you a chance to reform—to change. Just because I don't like your playing style doesn't mean I don't like you." He extended his hand. Sean walked up, took it, and they shook hands for a moment. "Good luck, son."

            p"Thanks, Coach." Then Sean turned and went, the door shutting soundly behind him.

            pCoach stood there for a moment, then sat down in his chair and sighed wearily. "Yeah, good luck…maybe you won't end up disappointing everyone."

/body

/html


	5. Rubbing Elbows

html

pChapter 3: Rubbing Elbows, 1975

body

pAmbassador Regina Hamilton stood firmly in front of the current British Minister of Magic. "Mr.Humblot, I'm afraid things have gone entirely too far this time. The Ministry cannot presume to have any control over American Magical affairs."

p"In another time, I would agree, Ambassador," the Minister replied. "But the world is becoming smaller and if the muggles were to suspect or find out about a bit of magic going on, the results would be disastrous. You know full well that it is the American Wizards that are more likely to reveal themselves."

p"That proves nothing," Regina countered stoutly. "Just because the American Council of Wizards does not pass more stringent regulations regarding the use of magic does not mean every single American will find out. Enough muggles already know anyway. It's hard to forget when there's a wizard or witch in the family." The ministers stirred uncomfortably; they didn't like being reminded that most American wizards came from muggle families. 'Pure-blood' families were rare in the States and tended to keep to them selves. They had not forgotten the witch trials of the early days. "Besides, Mr. Judd has already pointed out that muggles are unable to sense various types of magic altogether."

pMr. Judd, Minister of International Magical Cooperation, jerked his head up in surprise. "Now-now, I never said that this meant we could-" He broke off suddenly as the door to the conference room opened and a man in his mid-twenties strolled into the room, a mug of coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. A copy of the Daily Prophet was folded under his left arm.

p"Oh, no," Regina moaned as he headed towards the table.

p"Morning, all," the man said, seemingly unaware that an important meeting was going on here.

p"Sean?"

p"Yes, Sweetie-pie?"

pRegina groaned again and hid her head in her hands. Sean lacked tact completely; any other fool would know that this was not the place for sarcastic name-calling. The two ministers were looking at Sean as though he was the embodiment of all their aforementioned fears.

p"Ms. Hamilton, who is this man?" Mr. Judd inquired, barely keeping the disgust out of his voice.

p"Name's Sean. I do business in the area."

p"Sean-?" prompted Humblot.

p"Just Sean. I need to keep a low profile in my business."

p"What business?" 

p"See? Low profile." Sean grinned and slurped his coffee loudly.

p"Sean," Regina began again. "Whatever it is you what- whatever it is you think you need- will have to wait 'til after this meeting."

pSean set his mug down firmly. You know damn well what it is I want. I want these lousy excuses for wizards to give me my Yugo back." He glared at her.

p"I know that already."

p"Then why don't I have it?"

p"Look, can't you see that I'm in a meeting here? One that may very well determine your ability to ever drive your precious Yugo in the States again." She matched his glare and dared him to keep it up.

pHe didn't. A rather embarrassed look flittered across Sean's' face. "Oh- that's what was going on. I thought you were just having another one of those pointless political skirmishes again." He turned towards the ministers, hand extended. "I hope you'll excuse me," he said calmly shaking their hands. 

PHeading towards the exit Sean grinned and said, "well, I hope the rest of your arguing goes really well, gentlemen, and lady. Sure wish I could get paid for making people's lives miserable." Casting an accusing look at Regina, he went out the door.

p"You see- that is exactly the type of behavior I was referring to. That sort of recklessness will get the muggles' attention for sure. What was that, a magical YUGO?" Humblot said huffily. Mr. Judd nodded in agreement. 

pTaking a deep breath, Regina went about repairing the many layers of diplomacy she'd carefully created that Sean had so easily ripped.

                pRegina set her food tray down on the table- across from Sean. "Well, I have to say that that was a fine mess you made in there."

                p"What do you mean? I wanted to see you about getting my car out of impoundment. They told me where you were. I merely followed."

pShe shook her head. "Is it just me or are you always up here begging for some favor?" 

pSean gave her an innocent look. "Gees, you act like I come up here everyday and barge into meetings."

p"No, but you might as well. So, what did you do this time to get your Yugo taken away?"

p"Oh, you now the drill: 'Use of a muggle object with obvious magical modifications within the sight of muggles.' Apparently, they think some of my modifications aren't exactly…what do they say? Holy? Pure?"

p"Allowed?" Regina suggested helpfully.

p"Maybe."

p"Sean, none of the modifications on your Yugo are allowed in Britain."

pSean shrugged. "Yeah, guess that's their point. You'd think they'd get tired of taking it away from me eventually."

pThe two of them sat there in silence for a moment, as strains of conversation rose and fell around them.

p"Sean?"

p"Yeah?"

p"When we were in school, did you ever imagine that we'd be sitting here, in the British Ministry of Magic discussing- well, _regulations?" _

pHe looked at Regina in surprise. "Heck, when I was in school, the only thing I thought about was breaking rules. The future? What's that? Never really thought about where I'd be in 20 years."

pShe nodded. "Yeah, well, you have to admit that smuggling flying carpets isn't exactly something you choose to go into."

p"No, it's sure not," Sean agreed. He studied Regina's face for a moment. "What's wrong? You've been slightly, I dunno, put off all day."

pRegina shifted in her chair. "I'm going to resign my appointment as Ambassador to Britain."

pOut of all the answers she could have given that was the one Sean expected lest. "What?" He sputtered. "Resign you're appointment? You love your job, not to mention Britain."

p"I know." She hesitated briefly. "It's just..."

p"Just what?"

p"Dark times are coming, Sean. I can feel them. Maybe not for the world entire, but definitely for the magical community."

p"What gives you that impression?" Sean asked, skepticism in his voice.

p"Just this feeling I've had for the last couple of months now, maybe longer. Things I've heard, read in the paper." She pointed to the front page of Sean's copy of the Daily Prophet. "Another magical family found dead. All of them. How do you explain that?"

p"Right. So some more people get themselves killed and suddenly doomsday is looming around the corner?" His voice rose louder, as did the annoyed inflection of his voice."

p"I'm serious Sean and I know I can't ask you to be, but something is about to happen. And I'm not the only person who feels this way, either."

p"Oh, so who else shares your paranoia?" 

pShe steadfastly ignored the taunt of his voice. "Albus Dumbledore, for one."

p"Dumbledore? Who's that?"

p"Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Some say he might be next minister of magic."

p"Yeah, once Humblot kicks off," Sean murmured quietly. 

p"Hmpf. When he does, I won't be around to see it. No, I'll probably have some low-level desk job within the council." She looked up from her plate. "I suppose you'll continue smuggling?"

p"Yeah, food doesn't pay for itself," Sean said, shoving another spoonful in his mouth. "I guess I'll see you later Reggie. But before you go, could you see what you could-"

pShe nodded "I'll see what I can do about getting your car out of impoundment."           She stood up and picked her tray up off the table. "Just be careful, ok? I don't completely trust every wizard I see anymore."

pSean grinned. "You know they have medication for that sort of thing."

p"Sean, I'm serious"

p"I know, and I will be careful. I'm always careful."

p"That's right. I forgot."

p"See ya."

p"Bye then." She turned and exited the cafeteria, leaving Sean alone with his thoughts.

pVoldemort. Despite the mocking and taunting he'd shown Regina, he knew that he shared the very same fears she did, if not more. And it hadn't been just the last few months but years before that. You heard about those things in the Wizarding Underworld; just murmurs really. But enough to get your mind going. Who died mysteriously, who saw a strange man just moments before the bodies were discovered. And a whisper, just a whisper about a stranger called Voldemort.

pSean shook his head firmly. No, there was no point in getting himself all riled up over someone else's problem. He had a business to run and all the evil in the world won't stop him from running it. Standing up, Sean took his tray and went to dump it out, only to notice a man watching him. He had pale blond hair and ice-cold blue eyes. A stare that could turn a man into ice.

pGlaring, Sean walked towards him. "Take a picture. It'll last longer," Sean spat out at him, then walked coolly out of the Cafeteria and out to get his Yugo.

pNo, he assured himself. Nothing was going to change in his life right now. He'd get his car, pick up Satchel then head back to Tangier to see what kind of job Bashir had for him now. It was just business as usual.

/body

/html


	6. Quodpot: It's worse than football

html

body

Disclaimer: Yes, I don't own Quodpot. I don't make any money off of this either. That kind of makes me sad. : (

Quodpot: It's Worse Than Football

p1971-Sean is 21

            pSean sat there on the bench glaring out at the playing field. His friend Jackson entered from the field, poured himself some water and said, "man, that's some game, huh?"

            pSean let his glare slide onto Jackson's profile. "Hmpf. I'm sure it is," he responded darkly.

            Jackson looked at him, surprised. Then- "oh, I'm sorry man, I forgot you weren't playing again. Dang, how any games is Coach going to make you sit out?"

            p"Heck if I know, but I'm damned tired of it. Why did he put me on the team if I'm not going to play?"

            "Warm the benches?"

            p"Shut up." Sean turned back towards the playing field just in time to watch Sam Alstone score.

            "Maybe you should talk to him," Jackson suggested.

            "Why? Do you think me going up to Coach us really going to change his mind and let me play?"

            pJackson shrugged. "Can't say, but at least you'll know why." 

            pSean thought about this. As much as he didn't want to, he had to admit it made sense. Knowing why would be better than floundering around in the dark as usual. "Okay, fine I'll talk to him."

            p"When?"

            p"Ummm…how about after the game?"

            Jackson looked at him dubiously. "You're going to chicken out." 

            "Why do you say that?"

            p"Because you usually do—you get all worked up about something then you don't do anything about it."

            pSean puffed his chest out in annoyance. "I said I'll talk to him," Sean growled and with that, he turned back to watching the Quodpot game.

pHe waited until the locker room had emptied before approaching Coach's office. Sean had been have tempted not to go at all but a knowing look from Jackson changed his mind. Coach was sitting behind his desk staring at a play sheet. Sean cleared his throat to get his attention.

            "Er, Coach?"

            pHe looked up, startled. "Oh, Sean, didn't see you there. Have a seat, son."

Coach was one of those old school athletics directors who treated his players like they were all long lost sons. Estranged sons, that is. Ones who left 20 years ago then finally came back wringing their hands and asking for $1000 loans. Sean felt like a little kid every time he entered his office. 

            p"Thanks," Sean said quickly as he sat down. 

            p"So, I imagine you wanted to speak with me about something?" Coach folded his hands together and placed them on his desk.

            p"Uh, yeah. I was just wondering why I've been benched so far this season," he paused to work up more courage. "Coach, we've played three out of 8 games so far this season. One more and that will be half the games I've been benched."

            pCoach nodded. "That's true."

            p"Well, why then?"

            p"Coach stared him in the eye. "Sean, do you have any idea why you've been benched so far this season?

            p"No," Sean replied. "If I did, I would I be here asking you right now?"

            pCoach smiled. "No, probably not. Well, I'm not going to say you're a bad player, son, cause you're not. Let's just say your skills leave a lot to be desired."

            pA lump formed in Sean's throat. "What do you mean?" If my skills leave so much to be desired, why am I here?"

            p"Well, you've got the talent, that's for sure, else you wouldn't be here. You're ability to work well on a team is what I'm referring to."

            p"So…"Sean started.

            p"You need to learn that you're not the only person on that field."

            p"I _know_ that."

            p"Then why don't you act like it? Quodpot is not about winning personal glory. What does it matter how many goals you score if the team loses the game?"

            pSean shrugged. " At least I got something out of it?"

            p"No. That's the problem Sean. If the team loses, you lose. There is no in between. As long as you fail to realize that, then the longer you'll be on the bench."

            pSean nodded. "I see. So, either I give up my playing style or I give up my playing?"

            p"Yes, that's about right."

            p"Ok, then." Sean stood up and pushed his chair in and headed for the exit. "I'll clean out my locker then."

            pCoach stood up in surprise. "Wait, you're leaving?"

            "Yeah. I can't stay can I?"

            "But you're under contract." Disbelief filled Coach's voice.

            "I know," Sean said with a shrug.

            p"If you leave, the cops, lawyers and who knows what else will be after you. But you already know that right?"

            pSean nodded, trying desperately to think of a place he could stay and the police couldn't find him…or at least the lawsuits couldn't. Where was that place he'd heard of in school—that place where wizards who were wanted or unkosher could go?

            "Don't worry, sir. I have a place I can go where no one will ever find me unless I want them to."            

            pCoach looked at him, concerned. "You're sure?"

            "Yeah," Sean said reassuringly. He wasn't quite sure it was Coach he was trying to assure.

            p"Alright then. I was hoping to give you a chance to reform—to change. Just because I don't like your playing style doesn't mean I don't like you." He extended his hand. Sean walked up, took it, and they shook hands for a moment. "Good luck, son."

            p"Thanks, Coach." Then Sean turned and went, the door shutting soundly behind him.

            pCoach stood there for a moment, then sat down in his chair and sighed wearily. "Yeah, good luck…maybe you won't end up disappointing everyone."

/body

/html


	7. It's Good Business!

1987 "It's Good Business!"  
Sean looked at the large pile of magic carpets. He looked back at Ali Bashir. The Arab trader stood there, silently watching Sean with that impenetrable expression on his face. He's gauging my reaction, Sean thought, he wants to see how you're going to react. Sean took a deep breath. "Okay, let me get this straight: you want me to take these carpets --these heavy, unwieldy, carpets-- in my Gremlin, my flying gremlin with a weight limit, to Manchester, England."  
"Yes, I have already stated that three times." Bashir let a bit of annoyance creep into his voice. "The pay will be what it usually is--per carpet. Why are you so worried? It will bring you and your," his eyes flickered to Satchel with a faint look of distaste, "Partner much money."  
"I'm worried because, typically, you break up big orders among two or three smugglers. After all, you wouldn't want to lose so many products if the Ministry of Magic were to find out about this."  
Bashir laughed. "You sound as though they are hissing at your throat. Sean, you have never been caught by the Ministry--unlike some of you colleagues. This shipment is a sign of my faith in you."  
Sean forced a smile onto his face. Better not to appear in front of the boss. "I'm sure it is. Well, Satchel and I will just cart this stuff to the Gremlin and we'll be on our way." Sean waved his wand and the pile of rugs lifted into the air and out the door with Satchel and Sean following.  
"I do not trust him," Satchel said as they heaved the rugs into the Gremlin's smuggling compartment.  
"Neither do I," Sean agreed. "But what else are we to do? We're given an assignment, we do it. That's the way it is and that's the way we earn our paychecks." Sean stood up in the hold and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What else are we supposed to do about it?"  
Satchel made no motion then smiled his eerie smile. "Nothing at all. One does not fatten a pig on Christmas Eve."  
Sean laughed. Satchel had taken on the habit of using odd proverbs that made absolutely no since, to him at least. "All right, that's good enough, Satch." Sean hoisted himself out of the compartment and looked at the remaining carpets. They were quite a few but there was nothing else for it. "I guess we'll just leave 'em here."  
"And if they Ministry catches up with us?"  
Sean forced a cheerful sound into his voice. "Hey, they haven't before." He winced, "At least, not when we were smuggling." The Ministry of Magic had confiscated the Gremlin more times than Sean could count. It was only through the kindness of Regina, who was an Ambassador there, that he ever got to see her again--the car, that is. They both slammed the hatch shut and got up front. Sean placed the key in the ignition and started up the Gremlin. "So far so good. Anything gone wrong yet?"  
Satchel was staring at a piece of parchment labeled "Diagnostic Chart." "Not that I see. Good, Good, Good, and Not-Good-Enough-To-Be-Good-But-Not-Bad-Enough-To-Need-Fixing."  
Sean glanced at his partner. "What is that on?"  
"Plotablility."  
"Oh, alright." Sean gripped the steering wheel with one hand and, with the other, opened the glove compartment and pressed the invisibility toggle. "So long as it's not our flying or invisibility spell, I'm fine." They moved out of the garage and sped through the curving streets of Tangier's open-air market gaining speed all the while.   
When they reached the dock, Sean bent the stick back and they rose up into the sky, passing over the closed ferry companies and over the Strait of Gibraltar. Their route would take about five hours and on their way, they would pass over Madrid and the English Channel before reaching their destination: London.   
Satchel cracked his window open, wet his finger and then stuck it out into the night air. "Nice evening," he reported a moment later. "Cool, but not chilly, a slight wind from the south. It will probably get windier over the English Channel."  
"How do you do that?"  
"Do what?"  
"Tell what the weather will be like just by sticking your finger out the window? And don't tell me it's magic--I know magic and that is not magic."  
Satchel smiled. "A skill, then. A highly useful one at that."  
"It'd be more useful if you could control the weather instead of just predict it."  
"You, Sean, are the one with the wand, not I. You control it." Sean silently beat himself up. Stupid him, he knew Satchel wasn't allowed a wand or even to do much magic, being a "semi-human". While any magical creature could do magic without a wand, it tended to be spontaneous and uncontrolled. Vampires had it easier: They simply could not do magic without the aid of a wand. Potions and charms they simply could not do and similarly, these forms of magic had no effect on Vampires. In the Wizarding Underworld, this proved to be a very useful trait.  
The night grew windier as they left the Spanish coast behind them. Sean bent over the altimeter and nodded; they were at just the right height for optimum flight. Suddenly, something whooshed by them. Startled, Sean jumped. "What the hell was that?"  
Satchel responded with his usual calm demeanor. "A broomstick. Judging from the speed, sound and vector, one of the new Comet 260s."  
Sean glared at Satchel. "That's a ministry broom--you know that."  
Satchel's voice grew even quieter. "That I do." A chill went down Sean's back. Definitely not a good sign.  
"But, but, but," he stammered. "How would they --how could they--know we would be here? We were coming?" Trying to choke down the rising panic, Sean jerked the stick to the left and down. The Gremlin lurched. "Ah, Shit! The cruise control--" He groped for his wand and finally whipped it out, waved it and the car went down in a sharp turn--right into the ministry wizards waiting below. Sean swore again and maneuvered up and the Gremlin moved in a spiral. "Satchel, check the spells monitor. Have they casted any? Have any gotten through?"  
"They've caste about fifteen. Our protection is still holding, just barely."  
Sean clenched his teeth. "This is really, really, not good," the obvious part of his mind screamed." "Duh," said the other part and Sean ignored both parts and jerked away, two beams of light spraying past the Gremlin--missed again. A loud beeping sound filled the car. "What the hell is that?" Sean yelled.  
"The altimeter," Satchel replied, pulling at the co-pilot controls. "We're at critical altitude." A waning sound then filled the cockpit. "And there goes the spell-repeller."  
"Damn it, damn it, and damn it." Sean searched his head for a solution. Let's see... they could give up. ("Ha, ha, yeah right, and start a second career as a comedian?" Laughed one part of him.") No, they couldn't do that, they were carrying enough contraband to be put in prison for the rest of his life--Lord knows what would happen to Satchel, and Ali Bashir--The Bastard--would have it all arranged so nothing would point to him or his organization. Hell, he probably had this load so insured that he'd make a fortune off it. They could bail...but that would mean floating for hours in the cold water of the English Channel. Sean had had pneumonia once before and he knew if that's all he ended up with this time, he'd be lucky.  
All this left only one solution. "All right, Satchel, here's what we're going to do. We fly in as close to the coast as possible but we want the water to be at least fifty feet deep, and then we pick the largest group of wizards, bust through them, suffer acute engine failure and plunge into the ocean."  
Satchel asked no questions and punched out new diagnostics. "There, a northeast direction is the closest coast. The largest group should also be there. Wouldn't want to lose their prey, would they?"  
Sean nodded and turned ninety degrees in the direction Satchel pointed. The ministry officials followed, giving far more chase than Sean ever wanted to think they could. The altimeter beeped louder. "Will somebody turn that damn thing off?" He then realized that the only other person that could turn it off was Satchel and he was busy trying to maintain their trajectory throughout all of Sean's maneuvers. He slapped it off, leaving the car eerily silent. About twenty ministry officials swept in front of them, blocking their way. Although it was just going to be dumped in the ocean, Sean felt sick at the thought of subjecting his car to that sort of punishment. "Ok, I think we're close enough now." He slammed on the emergency brake, cut the acceleration and turned of the engine in mid air. The car made a half-lurching, half-gulping sound before taking a nosedive into the water.   
***  
The Ministry of Magic officials circled around the Gremlin, which was bobbing up and down in the water, each time sinking a bit lower. Do you think they're still in there, Mr. McPherson?", asked one of the strike team's younger members.   
"I don't know and frankly, I don't care. Those smugglers cause more trouble than they're worth. I'm cold, wet and my butt is sore. One of those passes knocked out my broom's cushioning spell." He stared at the car, it's top still above water. "No, we'll watch it sink, hope they go down with it, call it a night and have a nice hot cup of tea."   
Finally, with a bit more bubbling, the Gremlin slipped into the water. The wizards flew off, McPherson squirming uncomfortably on top of his broom.  
***  
The sun rose along the rocky coast of England and Sean eased out of the half-submerged grotto Satchel and he had spent the night. It was dark enough in there that Satchel wouldn't be too bothered by the sun but Sean still felt uneasy. Maybe it was the fact he had just sacrificed his livelihood and almost home last night. The fish were probably already redecorating. But he couldn't help but feel a sneaking suspicion that the Ministry almost catching him and Ali Bashir sending Sean out with an overlarge shipment was no coincidence. But why? That was the troubling part. He worked his butt off (well, except for when he was drunk/hungover, but he decided to skip over that part.) and then Bashir decides to off him. Now what was he going to do?  
He stared at the water listlessly for a while then a thought wandered into his head. Grinning, Sean pulled out his wand and walked closer to the sparkling water.   
"Sean," a hoarse voice said. "What are you doing?"  
"Go back into the cave, Satch. You can't be out in the sun. Besides, there's a fortune of magic carpets sitting at the bottom of the ocean and I'll be damned if it's going to go to waste." He pointed his wand at his head and an airtight bubble formed, then he ran towards the ocean and dove into it. Bashir had robbed him of very nearly everything and Sean was going to make sure he returned the favor. "I'll build an organization that will rival his and haunt him in his sleep," Sean thought. He grinned and swam deeper. 


	8. Old Friends and New Deals

Old Friends and New Deals  
Regina looked up from her work at the sound of a knock on her door. Sighing, she pushed away her work and said, "Come in!"   
The door opened and in walked Sean.  
"I'm impressed," Regina said sarcastically.  
Puzzled, Sean asked, "How's that?"  
"You knocked this time. Usually you just barge in."  
Sean grinned ruefully. "Yeah, that's what happens when I get inspired: I start using common courtesy."  
"Either that or you want something." Regina gave him a suspicious look.  
"Could be, could be, he said vaguely, seating himself in a chair.  
"So, I'll just fill out the form to get your car out of impoundment and --."  
"Whoa, hold up. Back up the cart. The Gremlin's not in impoundment; it's at the bottom of the English Channel forming a new Fish apartment block."  
"What?!"  
Sean felt a rush of joy; she was shocked, surprised and --he guessed-- interested in what he had to say. "Oh, skip it. All you need to know is, I'm out of a job, a home and have about 3 million Galleons of magic carpets drying in a flat on Park St."  
"And where do my useful connections and I come in?" Regina asked, a bit bitterly.  
Now it was Sean's turn to be surprised. It had never occurred to him that maybe Regina didn't pull all those strings out of the goodness of her heart. He summoned his courage. "Look, it's not what you think. For once, I'm not here to beg, cajole, and pester. I'm here to offer my help."  
"Help? How do you plan to help? Are you going to become an undercover spy? Turn in your millions of Galleons of Flying Carpets?"  
"No, but I can give you the main man who supplies them."  
"You're kidding. Ali Bashir? You're going to turn in your boss just because he fired you?"  
Sean face turned stone hard. "He didn't 'just fire' me, Regina. He didn't. If he had, my Gremlin would be for sale, not at the bottom of the ocean."  
Regina winced at his words and her previous remarks. How could she be so stupid? Sean loved that car, and she knew it. "Then what happened," she asked, forcing herself to sound gentle.  
"He tried to off me, I mean, mafia style. If it weren't for my superior flying skills," Sean let a little smugness creep into his voice, "and the special modifications on my car, Satch and I would be bloated bodies or sitting in Azkaban."  
"Oh, god. I heard the Ministry had an incident with a smuggler last night, but I didn't know it was you. You're sure about this? That it wasn't just chance?"  
Sean's eyes flashed at the thought. "Yes, I am. He loaded Satchel and I up with more rugs than ever, certainly enough to get me a life sentence and Satch the stake. I'm going to give him a taste of his own medicine now, but I'm going to do it right." He reached over Regina's desk, grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and ink and set it down in front of her. "Now write down every word I say."  
Regina decided it was pointless to argue with Sean; once he set his mind on something, there was no stopping him. At least this might give the Ministry a chance to catch Bashir. "Okay, talk and I'll write."  
"Alright. The officials will want to start in tangier. That's where he keeps his headquarters. If they can find the tavern up by the market, they should be able to locate the headquarters..."  
Sean talked for twenty minutes, letting all the little details he'd noted in his 20 odd years career as a smuggler under Bashir. As he talked, Sean couldn't help but feel an odd sense of release, as though all the stress and tension that had filled the previous years of his life were suddenly being washed away. Even though Sean held squealers in the lowest regard, he couldn't help but feel as though telling her all this information filled him with relief. It was like taking an emotional bath and he had no qualms letting it all spill out.  
Regina, on her part and never thought anything of Tangier or the people there except that they were vagrants and thieves. It had been difficult for her to include Sean in the same category but now she saw that it was true. They were vagrants and thieves but they were also people who lived by the basic tenets of life and were not fond of beating around the bush or playing word games. Regina got more than her fill of that sort of thing being an ambassador.   
Finally, Sean realized he had nothing left to say. It was all out there on the table, on that piece of parchment, the last 20 years of his life. It looked pitifully small. Regina looked up at him. "Um, I just wrote down the important facts. I really couldn't keep up."  
"That's fine."  
Regina stood up and walked over to the fireplace threw in some floo powder, stepped in, disappeared for a moment, and then returned. She wiped the soot from her hands. "Well, that's done with. The Intelligence division has your information." She paused for a moment and looked at her smudged hands before staring Sean straight in the eye. "Sean, this had better not be a joke. I'll kill you if it is. It's not just you, but me who will look bad."  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sean interrupted, "and I know how much your career means to you." He smiled. "As for me, I've got my work cut out for me."  
Regina raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? What would that be?"  
"Why what else, Regina?" Sean said with a fake air of innocence. "You've just ended Bashir's place in the market. That makes a rather large demand to be filled and I believe I have the rugs to fill it."  
Regina opened her mouth in surprise. "That's all this was? A ploy to get rid of a would be competitor?"  
"Don't forget the revenge part."  
"Oh, yes, let's not forget the revenge! Sean, don't ever do that again! Don't ever come in here pretending to have turned over a new leaf then do a 180 on me!"  
"Did I really fool you?"  
She glared at him. "No, I was just playing along. Honestly, when are you going to grow up and do something worthwhile with your life?"  
"Oh the arrogance!" Sean laughed. "Look at you! You sit here and argue with people for a lifetime! At least us smugglers provide people with what they need."  
"Smugglers are completely dependent on the whims of others, Sean. What are you going to do when Flying Carpets are legal in Britain?"  
"Yeah, like that will ever happen. Besides, I'm not going to be a mere smuggler anymore, nor will I be head of a smuggling organization. I will be head of the premier smuggling operation in the world and we won't just smuggle carpets. We'll smuggle whatever makes money and, unlike my former employer, we'll only fire people for failure, not success." He gave Regina a mournful look. "I'm afraid you've just opened a Pandora's box but I would be willing to give you a share of the profits to buy your silence."  
Regina laughed and Sean broke into a grin. "Yes, I'm sure that would look wonderful on my resume: 'easily bought out by persuasive smugglers.'" She shook her head. "I guess there's no curing you. Listen, I've a meeting to go to. If you want to wait here, we can catch dinner later--"  
Sean broke in quickly, "I'd love to, but Satch and I have organized transportation to Yugoslavia and it leave in--" he glanced at his watch--"30 minutes. I've gotta go."  
"Yugoslavia? What's there?"  
He pulled out a crumpled magazine picture. "See this? It's a new car from Yugoslavia. They call it the Yugo and a Yugoslavian wizard has arranged it so that this car is the official car of my smuggling operation. People will come to dread the site of a Yugo."  
Regina gave Sean a look that suggested he was completely nuts. "Somehow, I doubt that, Sean." 


	9. The End of an Era

The End: 2001, Sean is 51  
Sean stood there; back up against the tree so lost in his thoughts he didn't even hear Regina walk up behind him.  
"Hey."  
Sean jumped, startled. "Oh, it's you…"  
"Yeah, it's me. You don't seem so thrilled to see me." Regina moved to sit down on a nearby stone.  
Sean sighed and running his hands through his hair, sat down next to her. "Well, no sleep kind of takes away all of my zest for life."  
"I'm sorry about Satchel, Sean," Regina whispered softly.  
"So am I. I just don't get it!" Sean's voice rose a bit. "How could he do that? Betray us all—Betray me! He seemed so—"  
Regina placed her hand on his shoulder, soothingly. "You know it's not your fault. None of us had any idea who…what Satchel really was." She paused for a moment and Sean could sense her hesitation.  
"And even if someone did, I would have hotly denied it?" Sean guessed, smiling grimly.   
Regina shrugged, obviously trying to appear noncommittal. "That's just you Sean. You never let anyone say anything bad about the people you put trust in."  
"Hmpf. Look where that got me—Sirius dead, Satchel a traitor, Harry and his friends nearly got themselves killed because of my trust." He looked at Regina. "My whole life has been nothing but a waste."  
"That's not true."  
"Yes, it is. I'm 51 years old, Regina and what have I done with my life? Nothing. I'm going to be one of those old miserable bats who has nothing but regrets to look back on."  
"So what do you intend to do about that?"  
Sean looked at her, a surprised look on his face. "Huh?"  
"Well, for as long as I've known you you've never gotten worked up over anything as long as you planned on doing something about it."  
Sean fidgeted for a moment, opened his mouth then shut it again, unsure of how to say what he needed to say. Finally, Sean mumbled something under his breath in such a way that Regina couldn't understand it.  
"What?"  
Taking a deep breath, Sean closed his eyes and repeated it again. "I'm going to marry you?" He kept his eyes closed for a moment, not wanting to see or hear what Regina was going to say but after a few moments of silence passed, he opened one of his eyes cautiously. Regina was looking at him, a look of surprise and amusement written on her face.  
"Sean, that has to be one of the strangest marriage proposals I've ever heard."  
"You've heard more than one?" Sean managed to choke out.  
"Well, now that you mention it, no, I haven't." She studied his face for a moment and smiled. "How could anything have changed Sean so much that he wants to marry? I never thought I'd see the day."  
Sean smiled tightly back at her, unsure if he'd been turned down or not. Or had he just been insulted? Maybe it was a compliment…he shook his head to clear it. "So, is that a yes or a no?"  
Regina laughed. "It was a question? It sounded more like a child telling a parent how he was going to reform…and leaving room for negotiation. I suppose I will accept. We can negotiate later."  
Relief washed over Sean as he took her in his arms. "I was so sure I'd been rejected too."  
Regina smiled up at him. "We're not exactly spring chickens here, Sean. How could I turn down the only offer I'm likely to get?"  
"Aw, come on Regina. In wizard years, we're at our prime. Dumbledore's a hundred-fifty."  
"So, I guess we'll just have to take the next hundred a day at a time, huh?" Regina asked, teasingly.  
"Yeah, but with more planning than I normally do." He frowned. "By the way, why did you originally come down here? I know it wasn't to marry me."  
"Oh, that…." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled slip of paper. "It's from the ministry of Magic—about your Yugo."  
Sean took it with a puzzled expression on his face. "What have they done to it now?"  
"Nothing except for the fact you've finally got diplomatic immunity. They'll never take your car again."  
Sean looked at Regina with disbelief. "You mean that after confiscating my car for over 25 years, they're finally giving me diplomatic immunity?"  
Regina shrugged. "Hey, that's bureaucracy for you. Better late than never."  
"True, I suppose. Well, I guess we'd better go and get the car, then make a date at the chapel."  
"Please tell me you don't mean a Las Vegas chapel."  
Sean laughed. "Give me a break, Regina, you know I have more class than that."  
"I guess so, though sometimes I have my doubts. "  
Sean grinned. "Great. Now you're stuck with them."  
"It had to happen eventually…"  
And they stood up and walked towards the castle, leaving broken dreams and dead regrets behind, concentrating only on what was to come. 


	10. A Final Word

A Final Word 2005  
Sean stood there near the barn and looked out across the farm. The sun was setting and it gave the whole world an eerie glow, almost as though it was on fire. But it would last only a few moments, Sean knew, until the sun slipped over the horizon and the night began. This was his farm and he knew every inch of it.  
He slowly closed the barn door and latched it then headed across the lot up towards the house. His back was aching, his arms and legs wanted nothing more than to go to bed and stay there for a week or more. He couldn't, of course, not when he had a family to feed and a farm to take care of. He smiled inwardly. That was the real difference, these days, the fact that he could say he had something that belonged to him and he to it.   
He had returned home from Britain nearly four years ago, nearly five now, announcing to his aging parents that he was finally going to get married. They took it as a sign he was finally ready to settle down, but nevertheless Dad had decided to make sure. They had sat there on the porch, where Sean now stood, and talked. It had been the first time in maybe 30 years they had done so. That's the way life was when you were in the Wizarding Underworld-- life flew by leaving only scattered moments for notes to relatives. But that night, none of them were in a hurry; Regina and Mrs. Maggiore were in the kitchen cleaning up and chattering away while Mr. Maggiore slowly eased into his chair, set his cane down by his feet and lit his pipe. "So, you've finally come back now? For good?"  
Sean stood there, leaning against the porch railings with his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I guess so. I've tried pretty much everything else; farming shouldn't be so bad."  
Sean's father laughed, but it was dry and hacking. "No, it's not," he said, expelling some more smoke. "And with you and your wife's bag of magic tricks, this place'll be alive like it hasn't been for years."  
"So are you finally going to retire, Dad?"Sean said with a smile. He had begun to doubt the old man would ever quit working.  
"I think I've earned my rest," Mr. Maggiore replied, nodding. "I deserve to spend my twilight years by the fire, with a grandchild on each knee." He gave Sean a wink.  
Sean laughed. "Yeah? Well, you might end up waiting a bit for that--Reggie and I aren't in a rush."   
"Well, why not? Your poor mother has been sitting by the phone with knitting needles, just waiting for something to knit for."  
"I can't give any guarantees but what happens will happen. How's that?"  
Sean's father nodded. "Why don't you come over here and sit down for a bit? It won't kill you to rest your bones once in a while."  
"I'm afraid, Dad, that's what I've been spending half my life doing."  
The older man smiled and puffed lightly on his pipe. "We all feel that way sometimes. But look at all this," he gestured towards the land as Sean sat down next to him. "What more could you want?"  
"A time-turner, maybe?" Sean suggested.  
"A what?" Sean's father gave him a puzzled look.  
"Never mind," Sean said quickly but as his father did not relent, he added finally, "It's a magical tool, that lets you go back in time and --"  
"Right past wrongs?" His father watched him intently for a moment, then shook his head. "But why would you want that, Sean? Maybe my life hasn't been all it could be but I wouldn't trade it in for a minute."  
"Your life wasn't like mine."  
"Isn't," Mr. Maggiore corrected sternly.  
"Yeah, isn't."  
"Maybe not, but I've seen a lot. But it could still turn out the same." He sighed and took his pipe and set it on the small porch table. "Are you willing to let all your past life sleep, for this life? This farm and family?"  
"I'd like to think so, but I don't know. Money shouldn't be a problem, for a while anyway. I got enough when I sold my smuggling operation. I've been thinking about bout some changes we could make around the farm." Sean let his words hang in the air for a moment, along with all their different connotations.  
Sean's dad broke the silence. "So, tell me, how is your dirty money finally going to do some good?"  
Sean laughed. "It's not dirty--I earned every penny."   
And that's how the two of them had spent that evening--remembering and hammering out a future with words.  
Those words had become a reality within a few years as hard work, money, and a thoughtful potion here and there had brought the farm back into production. Regina and Sean had their first child at the end of that year, too, a girl they named Emily. Sean's father finally got to sit there, bouncing a grandchild on his knee, but just barely. He died a year later--cancer from a life long love of pipes--and was buried in the old cemetery beside the Methodist church. Sean's mother lived on for another year after that before she, too, was buried next to her husband. And the farm passed entirely into Sean's hands.  
It was odd, he thought, standing there and looking out across the farmyard, how no matter how far away he went, he always ended up here. Really where else could he go?  
A tiny arm reached out and wrapped itself around his leg and Sean glanced down, smiling. "Em?" A head poked out around his leg and a little girl with brown, wavy hair grinned up at him. She was three now and as smart and beautiful as her mother and as mischievous as her father.  
"Yes, Daddy?"  
"What're you doing?" She let out a shrill giggle as he picked her up and swung her high over his head. "Huh?" Sean pressed on.  
"It's dinnertime!" She answered, pressing his cheeks together with her hands.  
"Oh, is it now?" She nodded earnestly. "Then lets go and get some!" And they headed in, where dinner and Regina were waiting, letting the screen door slam shut behind them. 


End file.
